Redline by Alex Van Tol Read Free Book Online Page B

The road narrows. No more yellow lines. Just black asphalt.
    My rearview tells me the cops have let it go. They don’t want some stupid kid killing herself just because they gave chase. They usually back off if they can’t catch their target. That way, they don’t cause any accidents.
    Innocent people get killed .
    Something inside me cracks when I hear Dmitri’s words. My eyes blur, and I take a big breath.
    Get ahold of yourself, Jenessa. Slow it down.
    Gradually, I ease off the gas. But it’s too late.
    I’ve already hit the gravel.

Chapter Fourteen
    My headlights don’t pick up where the pavement ends and where the gravel starts. I feel my back end start to slide, and I jump off the gas. My rear whips from side to side, spraying thick gravel from under the tires. Dark bushes blur past. I don’t remember how to correct a gravel slide.
    Terrified, I tap my brakes.
    Wrong.
    Suddenly I’m spinning out, turning in circles, watching everything in slow motion. The steering wheel slips through my hands like it’s got a mind of its own. My headlights splash across a fencepost, then a bush. The road. Another fencepost. Another bush. The road.
    I spin for what feels like an eternity before I come to a crunching stop. The force of the impact jerks me sideways. A mass of white nylon explodes in my face, absurdly surprising. My seatbelt sears as it bites into my shoulder. Then I’m slammed back, against my seat.
    I wait for my life to flash before my eyes. Isn’t that what they say happens? That you see scenes of your life playing out as you die?
    Wait. Maybe I should look for the bright white light instead.
    I hear a metallic ping as a rock bounces off the car.
    Then it’s quiet.
    I open my eyes—I didn’t even know they were closed—and look down. Am I still here? My body is here. No blood. Can I feel my hands? Yes. My feet? Yes. I scrabble at the air bag, suddenly frantic to get its parachute-like bulk off me.
    My head aches. I raise a shaky hand to touch it. No blood there either.
    The cops! Panicked, I look in the rearview mirror. But then I remember. They gave up the chase a long way back.
    My back window is blackened, covered with something.
    It’s blood.
    I scream.
    How could it be blood? Holy, Jenessa. Bring it down a notch.
    I shake my head to clear it. I turn around in my seat and find that the car is jammed, butt-first, into one of the thick hedges lining the road. Leaves cover the rear windows. My engine’s off, but my headlights point across the road, lighting up the posts of a barbed-wire fence on the other side.
    Saved by a shrub.
    I close my eyes again and rest my head. I stay that way for a long time.
    I need a smoke.
    I open my eyes and look around. One of my flip-flops is on the dash. My cigarettes are on the passenger-side floor, jumbled up with all the other stuff that sprayed out of my purse when I crashed. I grab them and paw through the pile for my lighter. It takes me three tries with hands that are shaking, but I manage to pick up the lighter too. The red light on my BlackBerry is flashing.
    Leave a message, I think. I’m busy.
    Then I laugh. I laugh and laugh like a broken windup toy, high and shrill and never-ending.
    Eventually I stop. The silence folds in again, pressing on me.
    I’m suddenly seized by panic. The sense that I’m drowning. I need air.
    I need to get out of here!
    I open my door, half afraid I won’t be able to climb out. But I do. Literally. Climb out. My legs won’t hold me up. They’re working, but they refuse to straighten, refuse to stand. It doesn’t occur to me to watch out for other cars as I crawl around on the road. I crab-clutch around in a half circle until my back is leaning up against the driver’s-side door.
    With fingers that feel as thick as tree trunks, I fumble at the flip-top on the pack of cigarettes. My fingers won’t work. They disobey my commands. In